


Just an act

by Caliras



Series: Dyslexic Stan [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Dyslexia, Dyslexic Stan, Dyslexic Stanley Pines, Guilt, Past Rape/Non-con, Sad Grunkle Stan, Self-Hatred, Stan is dyslexic, just mentioned though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 01:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13823748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caliras/pseuds/Caliras
Summary: Aftermath of Ford going through the portal.





	Just an act

Stan wished his brother hadn’t cried out before hitting the portal. It echoed in his head countless times and all he could do was look at the ceiling, detached. He wasn’t even seeing the ceiling, not anymore, he didn’t know what was in this room, if anything at all. He just. Stared. His eyes burned, but he couldn’t close them, not without seeing Fords face again. If he was lucky, it was him going through the portal. If not, it was him disappointed, closing the door again. It was him, blood soaking into his shirt, sightless eyes forever gazing up, portal flickering behind him. It was him, saying he hated Stan, that he never wanted to see him again. It was Ford wishing Stan dead. Stan found himself agreeing.

Opening the front door -hey, when did he get up- he slipped outside, no plan other than for food. Throwing his coat on, a sting worked its way across his shoulder, -right the burn- but it felt muted. Almost as if he was simply in third person, doomed to never feel as sharply again. The snow went down without a sound under his feet, powdery and soft. Pure, unlike him. Taking a moment, he looked at his hands. The ones that pushed his brother through the portal. He wondered if he’d ever see the familiar six fingered hand again.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, disgusted, he marched to the town. Snowmen lingered around the town, hiding in alleys or behind a tree, built by children that still knew they had someone to count on. He wished to be a child again, to never have been touched by prison, or by hands that went too far down. To see his brother smile again, to keep dreams about sailing tucked firmly in his heart. Out of sight from his father, and open to his brother. His twin.

But… he was gone now, and so is the young Stan that didn’t flinch when hands moved too fast. The one that still hoped for the future, the one who could count on his brother. Stumbling on the curb, he was brought out his musings by a soft lighted grocery store. He didn’t feel hungry, he didn’t feel much of anything. Regardless, he stepped in. Yellow light bathed him in a mockery of warmth as he moved between the isles. He picked up bread, the thought of buying anything else with his brother gone because of him churned his gut.

“Just the bread then there stranger? That’ll be ninety-nine cents.” A friendly voice brought him back, as she held out her palm for money he probably didn’t have.

Grabbing whatever was in his pocket, he looked at it numbly. A paperclip, a sugar packet, and a single coin. Figures. He probably doesn't deserve to eat anyways. That’s what they said on the streets, too.

“Hey, that's no stranger, that must be the mysterious science guy that lives in the woods!” A high-pitched voice chimed in next, full of wonder.

“Ah, n-no, no, you got the wrong guy.” He said, worried that if they thought he was Ford, he really would be gone.

Voices began speaking excitedly, curiosity and awe mingling. No. No he- he didn’t want this. He couldn't live live up to their expectations. He couldn’t live up to his brother.

“-I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up to in there.” An elderly voice added, waving his fingers for effect.

“Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours,” The lady with the high-pitched voice asked, cat earrings the only thing he could focus on.

“No, really, I…” He felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He couldn’t live up to his brother. He looked once again at the contents of his pocket. But maybe… but maybe he didn't have to. Not this time. He needed money, more now than ever. He was going to get his brother back. No matter the cost. “Something worthwhile,” right? He sighed, putting on his best acting face. Only one of the few things he did better than his brother.

“Yes! I do give tours. Ten! Nah, fifteen bucks a person.”

A moment of silence, then they started offering up their cash eagerly, all paying for a tour from his brother which they weren’t going to be able to get. He just had to pretend. Nothing new. Nothing different. He could do this.

“Sir! What did you say your name was? You man of mystery.” Cat-earrings asked, excited about meeting the outsider.

“Oh, uh, Stan-ford, Stanford Pines.”

He felt sick. He’d taken everything, everything! From his brother, and now his name!? He knew, he knew it was necessary, but still. It felt like someone had taken yet another scoop out of his heart. He didn’t know how much he had left. Of course, none of this showed on the outside. A grin that sold was plastered on his face, leading the group up to the cabin. He felt cold, colder than the air around him. Had he finally gone too far? That coldness never broke, but the silence did when he opened the door and started his act.

He’d hurt someone else. Her eye closed, he didn’t know if it would open again. Another small scoop out. Soon though, it was over. But the emptiness remained even as he went down into the basement. Shuddering at the empty portal, he sat down. Prying open the book, he watched the words come to life. The cursive words scrambled themselves on the paper, popping out at him, taunting him.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to pluck the fading letters out of the air to glue them onto the paper. He wanted to strangle the sentences that wrapped around him until they lie still on the pages. Of course, he didn’t actually reach out, but he wished he could. He had to figure this out. Or else… or else his brother was gone. Forever. Naturally, Ford made it even more difficult with his loopy handwriting that slithered and coiled like snakes. Stan always wondered why Ford wrote like this, it just made it more difficult to read. But maybe Ford just liked to make things harder on himself, for fun. Maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to get it. The words spun on the paper till morning.

He could do this, he just had to pretend.

“I’m Mr. Mystery! Welcome to the Murder Hut!”


End file.
